'You read your Bible to little profit, it seems to me, Geordie: or,
perhaps, you have never read the Master's teaching about the Tower of
Siloam. Better read that and take that warning to yourself.'
Geordie gazed after Mr. Craig as he turned away, and muttered--
'The toor o' Siloam, is it? Ay, a' ken fine aboot the toor o' Siloam,
and aboot the toor o' Babel as weel; an' a've read, too, about the
blaspheemious Herod, an' sic like. Man, but he's a hot-heided laddie,
and lacks discreemeenation.'
'What about Herod, Geordie?' I asked.
'Aboot Herod?'--with a strong tinge of contempt in his tone. 'Aboot
Herod? Man, hae ye no' read in the Screepturs aboot Herod an' the
wur-r-ms in the wame o' him?'
'Oh yes, I see,' I hastened to answer.
'Ay, a fule can see what's flapped in his face,' with which bit of
proverbial philosophy he suddenly left me. But Geordie thenceforth
contented himself, in Mr. Craig's presence at least, with ominous
head-shakings, equally aggravating, and impossible to answer.
That same night, however, Geordie showed that with all his theories he
had a man's true heart, for he came in haste to Mrs.
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